


A lesson to live by

by LallaChan



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Description of giving birth, Doctor!Watson, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tired!Watson, WARNING: Mentions of possible rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LallaChan/pseuds/LallaChan
Summary: After a long day of seeing patients, Doctor Watson is on his way home when he gets pulled into an alleyway to help one more patient for the night.





	A lesson to live by

The soft darkness crept in with the fog, running over the cobblestone streets and crooked houses in cheap-side London. In the quiet street, Doctor John Watson made his way home. His cane pronouncing his limp on the broken cobblestones with each heavy tap. He looked knackered, his shoulders were slumped, eyes barely kept open with each passing step. But no hansom’s could be found in this part of town at this time of night.

 

He wondered if Holmes was at home, if his friend was waiting up, or if he was hot on the trail of a new case. A pang of regret struck through him. He’d wanted to be there today, to ensure he could join in on the fun with a new game, but it was that time of year again. Just after winter, when people seemed to bring in more sickness than health.

 

When women gave birth to stillborn. Like Mary did.

 

His hand tightened on his case, he kept walking. There was not reason to think about that, he hadn’t had one this year, not yet. But it sat like a little demon on his shoulder, consistently reminding him of the date, of the weather, the fog. That terrible night. It rises unbidden like an angry wave, he knew he would not survive the crash.

 

“Doctor?”

 

He looked up, almost instantly to find a lad of no more than 12 standing a few away, hand tight on the hem of his shirt. The nervous tension was overshadows by the pure fear in his eyes, and Watson could feel the weariness set into his bones. But he straightened, nodded and said;

 

“Show me.”

 

Quickly the boy ran into the fog, Watson took after, his leg tightening in protest. But he ignored it. In the distance he spotted another boy standing at the corner of the road, but he slipped away before he could get a good look. Quietly he hoped it wasn’t another patient.

 

He was vaguely surprised when the first lad disappeared into an alleyway. A tight wave of uncertainty grabbed a hold of him, and he almost stopped completely, but he pressed on. No child could act that well.

 

The place was filthy, dirt, boxes and God knew what else littered the wet stone. His heart sank when he saw the boy crawl into a medium sized tent made from blankets and boxes. After a moment he appeared again, holding it open for Watson to crawl in. He did so. The place was warm and smelled of rain water and dirt, there was a small lamp, some cans of food, and a woman on a bed made out of straw, heavily pregnant and clearly in labour.

 

His heart sank even further, but somehow he managed a small smile to try and ease her frightened expression. “Good evening,” he said, placing his bag down next to her. On his knees the pressure on his hip was pronounced, he took her hand. “I am Doctor John Watson, what’s your name?”

 

“Sally,” she said, voice trembling, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

Watson frowned lightly, “How old are you, Sally?”

 

“Sixteen, sir.” bright tears slipped over her cheeks, “I never asked – I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry...”

 

He touched her brow, “That is of no concern for now,” he squeezed her hand gently, “Let’s just focus on helping this little one out.”

 

She nodded again and even managed a brief if trembling smile. Watson let her hand go and quietly began feeling on the stomach. Sally winced and cried out. Removing his coat and jacket, he rolled up his sleeves and moved down her body and knelt down by her legs. “I need you to lift your legs and open them for me.”

 

She stared at him wide-eyed and shaking. He leaned closer, “Sally, I will not harm you, but we need to get this baby out.”

 

Closing her eyes briefly she turned her face away and quietly bent her knees and opened her legs. Watson smothered the anger at the blackguard who had done this. He looked, her water had broken, by the feel from hips she had dilated, but there was no sign of the baby yet. She winced, he could see her pushing with clenched teeth.

 

He needed towels, water... anything clean would do. He scanned the small holding, it seemed devoid of anything he could use.

 

“ _Doctor Watson_!”

 

In his exhaustion and occupied state it took him a full moment to even recognise the voice. Wiggins. The 12 year old from before opened the flap, letting in the cool air, Watson was about to yell to shut the damned thing, when it was opened quite forcefully by a cane, and a very, very familiar face.

 

“Holmes?”

 

The dignified, noble, and above all clean Sherlock Holmes, crawled into the space and gave Watson a very hard glare. “You stay out for a full two days, I receive no telegram from you for over 20 hours, and I hear from my Irregulars you disappeared down an alleyway in the middle of the night. Really Watson, did you even -”

 

The woman screamed, and Watson was instantly pulled from his surprised stupor. She writhed, her eyes shut tight, keeping her face and tears away from Holmes. Suddenly protective, suddenly very, very annoyed he spun on Holmes. “Get out, get towels, get hot clean water, then get back in here, and close the flap!”

 

Holmes looked at her, then at Watson for a full moment.

 

“Now, Holmes!” Watson snarled, and to his great surprise Holmes reversed out, closing the flap securely. Outside he could hear him bark orders at the lads. If he wasn’t so damned upset, he might have laughed at the idea of such a complacent Holmes. As it were he turned his attention to the terrified girl. Reaching out he gently took her hand again.

 

“Sally?”

 

She kept crying, painful heart wrenching sobs.

 

“I am sorry about my friend,” he said, rubbing her hand softly up and down, “He means well, but can be a bit tactless in situations such as these.”

 

She turned back, eyes big and tearful. “He was worried about you...?”

 

He nodded, “He was, but let him worry. I am here to help you.”

 

Her hand was trembling, but she squeezed it softly, and nodded.

 

With that done he returned to his previous position. The child was coming, he could see the shoulder. Breech baby, damn he really needed that hot water. As if summoned the flap opened, and Wiggins along with two other boys brought in eight towels, two buckets of hot water and a basin. With quick nods they escaped and a second later Holmes entered. Coat and hat removed in his shirt sleeves and vest.

 

“Thank you,” Watson said, “Hand be a few towels, and pour some hot water into the basin.”

 

Holmes did so, Watson placed a few towels under Sally, and then pressed his hands into the hot water, wincing as it burned right into his skin. Bit too hot, but he didn’t have time to wait. Without a word Holmes quickly handed him another towel, Watson dried his hands and knelt down in front of the girl again.

 

“Al right,” he said, “Don’t push until I say so.”

 

“But I want to!” she almost screamed.

 

“I know.” he said, “But your baby needs a hand...” her eyes widened even further, and she sat up, hands braced against the thin mattress. “This happens sometimes, it's normal.” his eyes flicked to the baby, “You’re both going to be fine.”

 

Her lip trembled, clear fear still in her eyes.

 

“Hold it back as much as you can.” he looked up and met her eyes, “You can do this, I’m here every step of the way.”

 

She swallowed and fell back again. Without waiting another moment he slid his hand into her and gently pressed the baby back. He could feel her wince, he could feel her trembling. He could hear the soft sobs, and the desperate prayers. He wanted to stop and go to her, to help her, to calm her.

 

“It’s al right. He's a good doctor.” Watson looked up at the voice. Holmes had moved to kneel next to her. His hand gently on hers. His expression was pulled into a smile, but Watson could see the tension, the uncertainty in his actions. Sally didn’t seem to mind, her hand clamped down on his and she looked at him as if he had the answers to everything in the world.

 

She didn't know how right she was.

 

Satisfied the babe was positioned, he removed his hand, “Al right Sally, push.”

 

Her teeth clenched, and she hissed before letting out a hard scream. Watson watched intently on the proceedings, offering short encouragement to the panting, pained girl. After a few minutes she collapsed, gasping. “I _can't_.”

 

He looked up, “The head is almost through, Sally, it gets easier from then on.” he met her eyes, “Just a little more.”

 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed again, screaming without a care, her hand tight like a vice on Holmes' arm. The head breached and Watson felt a smile form, “Great! A little more, come on!”

 

A broken cry later the babe slid free and Watson grabbed it in both hands. It was quiet. His heart tightened suddenly, but instinctively he turned the baby and slapped it once on the rump.

 

The cries were damn near music to his ears.

 

“Holmes! Scissors, top left in my case!”

 

Arm still gripped by Sally Holmes dug into his bag with one hand, grabbed the scissors and handed it over in all but two seconds. Umbilical chord cut, Watson grabbed the towels with blooded hands and wrapped the screaming boy – a boy, yes a boy – inside.

 

He wanted to hand the infant over, but Sally was exhausted, hot and uncomfortable. “Holmes,” he held the baby out to him, and for a moment he could see a flash of burning uncertainty in his eyes. “Take him!” he almost snapped and again Holmes complied.

 

Moving quickly, Watson grabbed her legs, lifted them and pulled the bloodied towels out. Thankful it hadn't pierces the sheets, he quickly used another towel, soaked it in the cooling water and quickly wiped her face, neck and then her legs. Then he quickly propped her up with on of the rather scratchy pillows, tossed a blanket over her and turned back to Holmes, who hadn't moved and inch.

 

Watson nodded at her, and with utmost care, Sherlock Holmes knelt closer and handed over the small wailing infant. Sally took him with wide eyes, but the second she saw the face her eyes watered and smile slid over her face. “Oh my... he, she...?”

 

“It's a boy,” said Watson, and finished washing his hands, shifted to sit on his uninjured hip next to her, energy suddenly spent. “And very healthy to boot, if those lungs are anything to go by.”

 

She looked at him and laughed, “Yes,” she said, “Yes he is...” she rocked back and forth, and the babe quieted slowly. “I wanted a boy,” she said, “A boy I could call Henry...” a soft frown fell on her brow, and she turned her rather dazzling smile on Watson, “But I feel as if I should rather name him after you.”

 

Watson held up his hands, “Oh no,” he patted her hand, “You name him what you wish,” he touched the small cheek, the baby groaned lightly, “He's yours.”

 

She looked down again, eyes thick with tears, “Thank you, Doctor,” then blinked, “I should like to repay this kindness.”

 

He shook his head and slowly knelt up, “Just rest, relax and recover. I should very much like to see you both healthy and happy. ” he slowly packed up his things, “I shall be here again in a few days.”

 

He could feel Holmes' gaze burning into his head, he didn't spare him a glance. She nodded and with a final parting goodbye Watson dragged himself out of the tent and staggered to a painful stand.

 

His leg was officially on fire.

 

But there was one thing he still needed to do. A small crowd had gathered, apart from couple of Irregulars he could also see three women standing close, and a man smoking a pipe. Watson hated onlookers, but such was the nature of man. He spotted the lad from before, and gestured for him to come closer.

 

“Are you her brother?”

 

The boy shook his head, “No sir, she camin 'ere six months a'go.” he shrugged, “She work at tha Drunken Rat as a drinks girl.”

 

Watson closed his eyes and nodded. “Someone needs to look after her for the next few days...”

 

“Wiggins!” Watson jumped at the booming voice, and he barely listened as Holmes spoke to the boy. Occasionally he asked a question at Watson, what she would need, how much she would need of it. Watson answered as best he could, trying to think of everything she would require.

 

Soon though it was all settled, and Holmes handed Wiggins a few coins which the lad took with a fierce nod. A calm settled over Watson, they would look after her. Someone would keep her safe. He wouldn't come back to a tragedy.

 

The thought made him dizzy, he swayed and Holmes grabbed him by the arm before leading him back to the mouth of the alley where, bless that man, a Hansom was waiting.

 

Holmes helped him up, and soon followed, knocking the roof to get the cab going. Watson wanted to sleep, but the nagging guilt would not leave him. Holmes was dead quiet, eyes focussed on the road, expression fierce.

 

His friend had been worried about him, enough to enlist the Irregulars to seek him out, enough to rush to him when he entered a dangerous alley. And how did he repay him?

 

By dragging him into a tent and forcing him to witness a rather painful birth.

 

Watson sighed. “Holmes, I feel I must apologise.”

 

His friend turned to him, his face blank. Watson knew this would not be easy, but if he wanted to salvage this situation, he would have to face it. “I treated your concern for my well-being poorly, and I bullied you into helping me with something you did not need to witness.” he sighed, “I have no excuse for it, but I hope you can forgive me my friend.”

 

Holmes remained silent for a moment then flashed one of his sharp little smiles, the ones Watson was never sure came before a storm or a calm. His heart thudded. Then Holmes sat back and closed his eyes.

 

“In my time I have learned many things to live by,” he shifted, and Watson got the distinct impression his friend was in sore need of a pipe, “Expect the unexpected, the most important information is often found in trivialities, Mrs. Hudson will forgive just about everything, but never break her china.”

 

Watson snorted.

 

“And tonight I learned...” and then he took his hands in his and smiled, a more genuine softer smile, “Never, ever come between John Watson and a patient.” his smile faded, “No, no, no, it is I who should apologise to you, my friend.” he held up a hand to stop the inevitable denial, “I sometimes forget your time is not always my time.”

 

Instinctively he squeezed his hand, trying to comfort his friend in some way. Holmes wasn't a very selfless man, but Watson never minded. He enjoyed every moment of it.

 

“I have called upon you in the middle of the night to far away places, to danger to everywhere I can imagine. And you have never once denied me.”

 

“I enjoy every moment of it, Holmes,” he voiced softly. The quiet fell between them, and Holmes gently stroked his palm through their gloves.

 

“Tonight, I hope I was given the chance to prove, that I would do the same for you.”

 

Watson turned to him, eyes wide. And Holmes smiled that secret smile he always had when he knew something you didn't. “When I ask you come, but you must also know, it goes both ways.”

 

Holmes' hand tightened, and Watson pressed his head into the firm shoulder of his friend and closed his eyes, all energy and tension swept away by the hansom trotting homewards, and Holmes warm by his side.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two as friends! I hope you guys enjoyed the story ^_^
> 
> I am not a medical practitioner, I have no idea if I got everything down right. If I made a mistake, please don't hesitate to let me know :)


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